Valiant
“Okay, well, I have to check my schedule,” I say quietly, feeling strangely bad that I seemed to have upset him. It shouldn’t matter that I said we’re friends. Because we are.
That’s all I can be to him, even if he doesn’t like it.
“Shoot me a text and let me know. Come on, I should get you home. You’re probably exhausted.”
He stands, dusts off his jeans, and reaches down, offering me his hand. I stare at the long, calloused fingers, and my heart flutters. Then I reach out and take them, letting his warmth close around my palm as he pulls me up. I stumble forward and my hands instantly go out, landing on his chest to stop myself falling.
And I swear, it feels like the world stops.
I look up at him, and for a long, incredibly intense moment, we just stare at each other.
What is this feeling? It’s like my heart is asking for me to trust this man I barely know, and yet everything else inside me is telling me my heart is wrong. I know it’s wrong.
Right?
How can it be asking me to trust a perfect stranger?
I step back quickly, letting my hands drop to my sides. Then I turn, walking far too quickly out of the path that leads us here. Jack follows, not saying a great deal, but I can feel the intensity between us. It’s out of this world. I can barely breathe, the air is so thick. We reach his bike, and I lift the helmet, jerking it down over my head before he manages to get a look at my face.
Will my face tell him what I’m feeling?
He stares at me for a second. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and then he climbs onto the bike, and I quickly slide on behind him.
The ride home is a good deal tenser than the ride in, and when we pull up at my place, I just want to get inside and get away from this nagging feeling tugging at my chest. But when I glance at my house, I can hear voices coming from inside. I instantly go on high alert. What is that? Better yet, who is that?
“You expecting someone?” Jack asks, his eyes fixed on my house.
“No.”
That’s the truth.
He takes my hand and tugs me forward. “Best we see who is in there, then.”
God.
This can’t be good.
CHAPTER 9
NOW – BAYLEE
“What the hell, Rae?” I snap, glaring around the trashed house.
Rae sits on the couch in front of me, shooting daggers at Jack instead of me. He’s shooting them right back, big arms crossed over his chest. There are two other girls sitting beside her, completely wasted, and two men leaning against the back of the couch, also wasted.
I fear from more than just alcohol.
My stomach twists. Drugs. Something I’ve tried so hard to run from.
“You’re pregnant,” I hiss. “Did you think of that?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not fucking drinking, Baylee. I’m just having friends over.”
A familiar feeling rises in my chest, it’s the same feeling I used to get when York told me nothing was wrong. It’s that feeling that shrieks at you that something is wrong. That they’re not telling the truth. That you shouldn’t just overlook it. But right now, I have to. I need to get these people out of my house, and I need to clean it up.
“This is my house,” I snap, tired and irritated. “I work my ass off for this place, to keep a roof over your head. For crying out loud. Can you think of anyone else but yourself for a single, god damned second?”
She blinks at me, her mouth dropping open slightly. I’m angry. I can’t stop the bubbling feeling in my chest. The one that wants to spill over and just be done with the young, frustrating girl sitting in front of me.
“You’re hot,” one of the drunk girls slurs, looking at Jack. “Want to take me home?”
Jack gives her a dirty look, and mutters, “Rather lick a fucking toilet seat. You got a ride home?”
He asks the last question to the group in general.
“No,” one of the men says, giving Jack the stink eye. It’s probably his girlfriend hitting on him.
“Well, I suggest you call a cab,” Jack says, keeping those arms crossed. “Now.”
“Got no cash, bro.”
Jack shoots the man a look that has even me taking a step back. “Well, that ain’t my problem. This isn’t your house. I’ll give you ten to get out, or I’ll make you get out.”
The man straightens, and I flinch, fear coursing down my spine. “What did you say to me?”
Jack doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t back down. “I didn’t stutter. You’ve got nine minutes left, now.”
The man eyes him, and for a moment, I feel like he’s going to start a fight, but surprisingly, he just mutters a few curse words and pulls out a phone, calling someone. While he’s doing that, Jack looks to me. “I’m making a call, get someone to help clean this mess up.”
“No, Jack, it’s okay ...” I try to protest, but he puts a hand up, and I can’t argue further.
“Yo’, Quinn, rally the troops and come over to Baylee’s house. We need a hand.”
He listens for a second, laughs about something, and then rattles off my address before hanging up the phone. I stare at him. “You don’t need to get your friends over to help me clean,” I say, feeling guilty.
Jack waves a hand. “Don’t stress, there is beer and pizza involved for them. And this ain’t going to be easy to clean up. No way I’m leaving you on your own to do it.”
I glance around at the mess, and I know he’s right. There is no way I’d be able to clean this up on my own and get enough sleep to help me function tomorrow. It’s already well past midnight. There are cups, food scraps, napkins, and rubbish strewn about everywhere. I look back to Rae. “Get to bed, and don’t come back out until I’m done.”
Rae stands, clearly happy she’s gotten away with not cleaning up. But Jack stops her with a sharp whip of his voice as he says, “Rae.”
She looks at him, horrified. “I don’t know who you are,” he says, his eyes strong, his jaw tight. “I don’t know your story. I don’t know a single fuckin’ thing about you, but I do know this: When someone is helpin’ you the way Baylee is, you don’t shit on them. You don’t treat them with the utter disrespect you treat her. So, I’m telling you, and believe me when I say I don’t fuck around, if I ever see her house like this again, I’ll be the one to toss you out on your fuckin’ ass.”